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Theo Arrives in Africa

Written by Adam Green on Sunday the 27th of November 2011

Theo was nervous about Africa. It is no place for a scholar. Let not hisboisterous war-cry fool you, for when the Top Gun riff faded out he was left asense of disquiet. Some people say that it was from Africathat we all originated. Theo sided with the more Lyellian perspective - that wecame from the sea, and if so there is a perfectly nice beach in Norfolk. Sadly there waslittle time for cold feet now as the smoothie splattered over the pod and itscreeched to a halt and squeezed back into three dimensions to drift over thered continent. He prodded his body, moved his limbs and blinked his eyes indisbelief. The Beagle was at an altitudeof 15,000 feet which was slightly high but the radiator maintained an eventemperature and the compression equaliser kept the air kosher.

An hour later he touched down in themarket-place of Accra, capital of Ghana. As thecanopy swung open he felt the sun blare mega-heat upon black skin, amidststreets awash with disease and the sick smell of boiling milk. Curious bonydogs whimpered in open sewers, broken cars farted noxious exhaust fumes and thesmell of frying plantain was giddying. Brawfonyo! shouted stunned children at the mysterious white man whoappeared out of nowhere. Market sellers mauled him, gleeful boys leapt onto theBeagle and Theo tried to shoo them away with his walking stick, wrestling throughthe crowds to find some space to gather himself. Hassled and hounded, hefinally reached an outhouse on the periphery and took out the map Spinny haddrawn for him. He approached anon-hysterical old man and asked for directions and he looked at the paper withinfinite dark eyes and pointed Theo towards a dirt track that ran along thedistant beach. Leaving the heaving masses behind, Theo dragged the heavy podthrough the dust and debris. It took an hour to reach the beach and Theo keptchoking on the sandy wind, his translucent skin sizzling in the equatorialglare. 'Jeez' he muttered 'this is lunacy! What the hell am I doing?'. He had spared little thought for themagnitude of this expedition and the task that now confronted him.

He followed the dirt track and the hand-writtensign-posts to Mamprobi and arrived hours later in the Charlie Parker ofnight-fall. Inky blackness hung over theadobe huts and the slow-burning lamps shed glimmers of light over the shantysettlements. Men spoke intently under flickering street-lights and the atmospherewas thick with language while grandfathers sat on crates with their legscrossed and watched the shooshing Atlanticwash its foamy surf on to the shitty beach.

Theo approached a group of fisherman and askedif they knew Chaplain. They looked at Theo and shook their heads, and he movedon to ask several other men. His fifth inquiry was met with a nod and he wasdirected towards a large and complex hut perched on a sand-dune overlooking adilapidated pier. As the philosopher neared, he saw two figures sat on a porchbeneath the choppy shine of a faulty light bulb, enshrouded in a plume of smokeand studying a book. Their chanted prayers were hypnotic in rhythm yet reggaein their rumbacity. Not wanting to disturb them, Theo parked upthe Beagle and changed into some clean clothes. When the prayer ceased, a chalice of weed was lit and a lighter mood ensuedso Theo advanced through the bushes and approached their residence.

'Rastafari!'came the salute from Chaplain as the pale philosopher emerged from thedarkness.

*Whilst rumbacity is not recognized by lexicographers, when theyfinally see the error of their ways they will include it in our English canonas an adjective describing a chanting sound somewhere between boisterous,severe and rhythmic*